Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and sex with superman. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “sex with superman” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see sex with superman come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “sex with superman, sex with superman, fuck, sex with superman!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “sex with superman” release.